Another Chance
by Kadyn
Summary: Battling a group of dark mages a spell and a time wave Cassie's just released combine accidently backfiring with disastrous consequences, leaving Pritkin responsible for a 5 year old Cassie. With no powers and no idea who she is supposed to be, can Pritkin keep her safe from Vampires, the Circle and Senate and reverse the spell? What might he learn along the way? Eventual Cas/Pit
1. Chapter 1

**Another Chance**

_by Kadyn_

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**Disclaimer:  **_I do not own any of the characters here in, I did create this storyline but since the people contained in it are in no way mine that hardly matters! I hope you can enjoy it even knowing I kidnapped them once more for my own nefarious plots! *insert evil laugh track here*_

**Summary: ** Battling a group of dark mages a spell and a time wave Cassie's just released combine accidently backfiring with disastrous consequences, leaving John Pritkin responsible for a 5 year old Cassandra Palmer with no powers and no idea who she is supposed to be. Can Pritkin keep her safe from Vampires, Mages light and dark and hidden long enough to reverse the spell? What might he learn along the way about the girl he'd sworn to protect with his life? What happens when getting to know a younger unguarded Cassie before she built her walls to keep out the whole world changes them both in ways he never imagined?

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**Chapter One – Disaster**

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John scowled harder than he had in months—and considering the last two of those months had been spent largely in the company that inspired some of his most famous scowls in memory; that was saying something. She was in fact the reason for his current expression—but for once he didn't think just the scowl was going to do this situation the justice it deserved.

Cursing up a storm, laced liberally with Bloody and Bugger and several other true to British form words he often found himself habitually sliding into when stressed Pritkin slammed the door the vehicle he'd managed to take cover inside. Then just as quickly bespelling the engine to turn over with an intricate wave of his fingers he wasted no further time which might delaying or even prevent their escape slamming their stolen vehicle into drive and punching the gas pedal to the floor with his size 12 heavily scuffed and now potion stained work boots.

A fine layer of ash and dust once more covering his skin, John could taste the burn of ozone in the back of his throat the residual effect of the acrid smoke exploding just outside his shields mere moments before, a split second later…but no. He wouldn't think like that. There was no time to dwell on almost-mistakes, he'd berate himself for being so god-damn-bloody distracted by her presence that he almost got them both killed later. Dark burnt black marks marring his fingertips drew his attention briefly the back of his hands showing fine white lines of clean skin between his knuckles now gripped far too tight on the wheel before him. His shoulder might not be completely in socket, and he was reasonably certain he'd suffered a broken rib protecting her from that last blast just before his shields had given out…when she'd hurled that goddamn time wave at the same moment he'd dived…

John's eyes dart toward the passenger seat, but she's still firmly unconscious; she's alive—he assured himself of that first and foremost. But how severe the damage might be he truly has no idea; but it looked bad. More than bad. This was a disaster of Epic proportions beyond even what his usually stoic nature was prepared for. He needs to talk to Marsden. He realizes his hands are shaking even gripped as tight as they are against the wheel, he needs to talk to somebody…he's never felt so over his head in his god-damn life.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror John felt a small amount of the tension coiled tightly in his gut unfurl. But the relief at not being followed by the dark mages who'd attacked them previously obviously being still knocked out cold during the fight that they were now fleeing was miniscule compared to the mass of tangled knots brought on by the shit storm of a mess he now found himself in.

Of all the Bloody times for shit to go wrong, it would be now. In her presence. It was always in her ruddy presence Pritkin mused scowling. His eyes darting from the darkened road momentarily to the tiny crumpled form half hidden by the wild dirt smeared mop of strawberry blonde curls in the passenger seat beside him. Her _very_ tiny form; he noted once more, hoping that somehow he'd been mistaken, but the slender form draped across the seat in a very familiar now oversized t-shirt was far too tiny even for her normal waif like status worrying him far more than even he's ready to admit.

Cassandra Palmer the worlds chief seer and current Pythia also currently stood roughly three feet too short, and if he had to guess approximately 20 years shy of her normal form.

John cursed again, palm smashing vindictively against the wheel's edge grinding his teeth. God they were bloody well and fucked, beyond fucked even if he couldn't fix this. And he hadn't the first clue, even with decades of knowledge of where to start. He could only pray to a deity he generally regarded as a cruel absentee waste of time that when she woke she'd know the answer.

John's scowl slide heavily toward a grimace, recognizing such odds of Cassie having some idea of how to reverse whatever the Hell it is that went wrong in the first place; not only was she highly untrained when it came to her own powers due to the nature of her upbringing—she was also currently in the body of a 5 year old child. And it got worse when John thought to concentrate on it; squinting his eyes to focus because he was beyond tired and found even this a bit of a strain it was so much worse than that because there was no hint of the normal mantle of power; the aura that should have clung to her shape even in sleep. Not even a whisper of the power that should have clung to her like a second skin.

Well fuck a duck.

This was going to get interesting Pritkin sighed exerting another wave of effort in the form of spell work to safeguard their vehicle for its future mode of transportation before adding a second and then third spell that set his already taxed power reserves to a dull thudding roar behind his eyes before activating the spells he'd laid taking the stolen Nissan Sentra to the sky and sliding them into an overhead ley line towards the only place he could think of to sort this mess out.

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_**to be continued...**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two_**

Roughly an hour later John Pritkin's general assessment of their current situation was that this was still a disaster. Despite being out of eminent danger, at least for the time being. In fact it's worse than a disaster for so many reasons he didn't have the strength to even begin to name right now.

Part of him would almost rather be running for their lives, especially if it meant she was back to her normal self.

They'd arrived in England, just outside of Wales forced to drive the vehicle he'd stolen for their get-away the last ten miles of bumpy ill maintained country roads once outside of the ley line—he was incredibly lucky that they passed no form of law enforcement or other officials magical or not during the last leg of the journey for several reasons.

The first being that he was in possession of a stolen vehicle—from America. The ruddy steering wheel was on the wrong bloody side for these roads and the license plate flagrantly announced it was from Las Vegas—clearly out of place and not registered to drive in this country. He could only imagine the difficulty in explaining to an officer of the normal human law even out in these outlying counties how he managed to bring such a car across the pond without touching customs. And seeing as the vehicle in question was at least an 8 year old rusted and cloth seat worn Nissan Sentra a better question might be why the hell would he even bother?

The second and far more damning should someone pull him over was that he was in possession of a little girl who clearly didn't belong to him; and while she was unconscious still at the moment—should he be pulled over and they be questioned John wasn't all together positive that she'd know who he was or what was going on. He could just imagine Jonas Marsden's face after he received a phone call from the British Police Force informing him that his 'Agent' had been arrested and imprisoned for kidnapping an American girl and smuggling her out of the country.

He wondered offhandedly if Amber alerts extended to England and included Pythia's. Probably best not to find out.

And this presented him with the third problem. They'd just arrived at Cobb End, the rambling drive needed work he noted with pursed lips as the vehicle too low for this kind of rough treatment bumped and scrapped along the hill slowly making the climb despite his rising doubts. He passed the front entrance to the house taking the vehicle all the way to the back—exiting the vehicle briefly to throw open the doors on what had once been a moderately sized carriage house in the rear so he could pull the vehicle thereby inside keeping it hidden from sight.

Normal people should not happen upon this residence by accident as it was warded heavily along the property line against such things; but that didn't mean that the occasional Witch or Circle mage might not happen by seeing as there were a few other properties within the area that had also once belonged in the corps rotation of available properties to new recruits and transfers. It was how he'd originally acquired the little stone house with its rambling stone walled garden off the front terrace.

Once upon a time John had made this rustic stone house with its rolling hills his home, and for a very fleeting moment of time he'd shared it with his a wife. John pushed those thoughts away before they could eat at him. He had enough problems tonight without poking at old wounds from the past scouring up century old pain to torture himself with.

Circling back around to the passenger side of the vehicle and opening the door found Cassie's diminutive form still fast asleep so John did the only thing he could. Gritting his teeth and steadfastly ignoring the jab in his side confirming his suspicions of a broken rib he lifted her into his arms and carried her slowly into the house having to shift her weight awkwardly at the door for a moment lest he drop her on accident even with her slight weight barely more than a sack of flour.

Blasted girl had been a few stone shy of a hearth her entire life, he scowled promising himself if he was to keep her here while they sorted this mess out the first thing he was going to do was put some bloody meat on her bones!

Once inside the house he was faced with the perplexing question of what to do with her now? After a few moments silent deliberation he made for the staircase carrying her tiny form to the second floor and down the short wooden hall the board's creaking with a familiar protest under his feet. He placed her in the same bedroom she'd used the first time they'd been here; though she'd been trapped in his body at the time. John scowled staring down at the tiny sleeping blonde. How she got them into these peculiar messes he had no idea. Girl had a serious aptitude for catastrophe.

Leaving the door cracked half a foot John moved back down the hall to the stairs and made his way down to the kitchen, mindlessly going through the motions of starting up a cuppa desperately needing something familiar to do with his hands the nervous twist in his gut not only from the strain of his current situation, but also from the memories in this house.

The water kettle set to heat John pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. Jonas answered on the second ring.

"John? What's wrong? Is she alright?"

Were his calls so predictable now?

"She's…" He stops not sure exactly how to put it.

"What happened? Where are you?" Jonas's voice has grown more flustered. Panicked John would classify it if he didn't know the old mage better. They've seen far worse than this in their years of service together right?

"She's alive."

Jonas is silent.

"There was…an accident," he starts.

"What kind of accident my boy?" Oh dear. Things must be bad if Jonas is calling him that. He sighs.

"She's five."

Silence. Then a startled, "I beg your pardon?"

"Her Age. Cassie is five years old. She pulled back a time wave, or it got mixed up with a dark mage spell that was being thrown—I'm not sure exactly but she's five years old Jonas!" And suddenly he's incredibly angry. "What am I supposed to do? She's got no powers, she's a _child _and every time we bloody turn around someone else is trying to kill her!"

"I see. Well," Jonas pauses so long John wonders if he's hung up or lost the connection somehow. "I see…"

"You already said that Jonas." John growls.

"I'm thinking." Jonas snaps.

"Well think bloody faster!"

Jonas's breathe huffs through the line. John can practically see the man on the other end in his mind's eye: rubbing at his eyes wearing that perfect put-upon expression. "Well, there's a good chance, that is to say, it is most likely that the spell will reverse itself… after a fashion."

"How long?"

"Another good question."

John has to tamp down the urge to slam the receiver into the countertop a few times. He settles for pulling the kettle off the heat before its starting whistle can build to a serious scream that will only further grate his frayed nerves and risk waking his sleeping charge upstairs. "How _long_ Jonas?"

"I'm afraid I just don't know, but you should be able to see evidence of the spells passing yourself I would think as it unravels…"

John is suddenly struck with another horror. "And what if it doesn't? What if she gets younger instead of older, what if—"

"Nonsense! The very nature of her station would prevent such a disaster from taking place!" Jonas assures him in a rushed clipped tone. "I'm positive that in a few days she'll be back to her normal Cassie-self and ready to come back with no one the wiser!"

"The vampires can't know."

"No, I imagine this would muck up their Senate treaty quite a bit. Hard to make them understand magical mishaps like this, untrusting bunch the whole lot of them."

He could say the same for Mages after some of the shit the Circle had put them through recently.

"So, I just keep her here and wait to see if she ages?"

"Well yes, that seems reasonable don't you think?" He can practically hear Jonas's enthusiastic nod even through the phone. "And I dare say you could spend some of this time teaching her a thing or two."

"About what?"

"Well, magic for one! This is a unique opportunity to undo some of the harm those blasted vampires have done in raising her! I must say; five is an excellent age to develop her abilities."

"I'm not a teacher Jonas."

"Well I could send a tutor to your location but let's face it my boy, we both know the more people aware of your current predicament the more likely that the news get leaked and the whole world does not need to find out they are without a Pythia at the moment."

On that subject they are in agreement at least. "So we wait."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to the readers and reviewers!_

_To answer a few questions First for Silver Crane—Pritkin uses tea in the books for 'stressful' situations (like in HtM when Jonas is looking for the boxes he brought over previously to make for Cassie after the whole 'gods' conversation gets her rattled.)__He's still a coffee addict don't worry, it's a trait I share with him and I certainly wouldn't change it!__Nobody wants a caffeine deprived war-mage!__; D_

_And for Manapohaku2: __I'm torn myself between having Billy show up in this fic (from Cassie's POV) since Pritkin can't see him obviously, or just assuming that Billy was probably floating around the casino when Pritkin and Cassie were attacked where-ever-they-were.__He's not always with Cassie in the books either, though he could certainly give Cassie information about Pritkin long before Pritkin would want this younger version of Cassie to have it! _

_Decisions, decisions… hmm._

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**Chapter Three**

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He's just started to worry—not sure exactly how long a child of her indeterminate age should be expected to sleep under normal circumstances having little—well, basically no experience with children, ever. John scowls down at his cup, uncertain if any situation he's ever found himself facing where she's concerned could be called 'normal.' If there were such a thing he'd probably be able to count them on one hand—and he doubted he'd even need all his fingers.

There's noises from upstairs—the shifting of tiny feet over his head. Her movements given away by the creaky boards beneath her bed as he all but tracks her progress from one side of the room to the other on steady feet. He waits oddly frozen with indecision in his chair. His mug of tea clasped perhaps a little too tightly in his hands, his knuckles bleeding white with tension worthy of facing a handful of dark mages.

He should not be this nervous because of one small child.

One little blue eyed girl currently skipping down the staircase in front of him, each flounce spronging the tightly wound curls in a lopsided mop around her head, her hands pressed to the walls in counterpoint to her seemingly reckless hops down each step. A loud protest of old wood screaming under each flat footed vigorous stomp heralding her arrival with a sound akin to a herd of tiny stampeding elephants.

Thump! _Creak!_ Thump! _Creak! BAM!_

She totters for a moment on the extra loose board righting herself in the same split second his legs tense to rush forward. But he simply lowers his thighs back into the worn wooden chair with an exaggerated slowness when she starts her descent again, hardly missing a beat.

_Bloody Hell. __Were children always this noisy first thing in the morning?_

She pauses when she sees him, still two steps from the kitchen floor tiny hands still pressed firmly to the wooden lined walls of the stairwell as she watches him without a word, a curiously blank expression on her young face.

John's lips tighten into a firm line he raises his cup to cover-up noticing for the first time the words on her t-shirt now inappropriately blazoned across her scarcely five year old frame like a dress.

Whether he considers the statement to have merit at this particular moment or not—she shouldn't be wearing it.

_'Step aside Coffee! __This is a job for Alcohol…'_

John scowls deeper,_ was it ever, _he mused to himself as she cocked her head drawing his attention again to the spill of strawberry blonde curls and impossibly round blue eyes watching him in silent question, and then; "Who are you?"

_And No. __Alcohol alone, _John realized,_ wasn't strong enough either._

_Not the general Earth variety anyway._

His mug hits the tabletop with a bit more clatter then intended making her jump for the first time, blinking at him. "My name is Pritkin," he answers on reflex. He's not certain why he doesn't say John…his name IS John; at least in this decade…but not to her—no to Cassie he's always been _Pritkin_. With everything going on around him, so much uncertainty everywhere; he doesn't want that to change...

She blinks at him again. "That's a funny name." Her gaze darts around the brief kitchen her nose wrinkling to the point of creasing the spaces under her eyes over her rounded baby cheeks when she glances back to him, lips twisted to one side in an expression he's never seen her use before. "Where's my Mom?"

John curses under his breathe raising one hand immediately to his lips to cover the sound. Hell he needs to get himself together. She's staring at him expectantly, eyes a little bit more wide like maybe she heard that and he's still wracking his brain, not sure what to say—trying to remember every conversation he's ever had with her; the real her, about her parents. And there haven't been many to go on. He's trying to remember exactly when Cassie's Mother and Father died—a new and far more troubling thought occurring to him on that one's coat tails.

What if in un-aging herself Cassie permanently lost more then just years of time—assuming the process reversed itself as Jonas' suggested in a timely fashion—he hopes to God more timely then it's normal passing, seeing as they can hardly wait around twenty odd years for their Pythia. John might have that kind of time off handedly—but with the way the world's been throwing things at them left and right, the rest of them might not. What if in re-aging Cassie gained the years but not the memories to go along with it? Would some part of her retain her previous experiences and feed them back to her conscious at the appropriate time and age-limit? What if she returns to her former body—but not her former self? _Would she even be Cassie at all?_

He swallows another sip of now tepid tea trying to decide what exactly to say.

Bugger it all, he can always give her a memory charm if this ends badly, and he can hardly sit here and continue to stare at her while she proceeds to fidget.

"Cassie, I'm looking after you for a while, come sit down."

She hops down the last two steps before moving to sit across from him, her head and shoulders barely visible to him from across the thick expanse of darkly scared wood. One tiny hand shoving a mess of sleep tangled curls—flat on one side and steepled into a mountain of frothy waves back from her face only to have them flop forward again.

"What happened to my hair?" She asks him pointedly, shoving it back again.

John stares at her a bit flummoxed. "Your hair?" He repeats.

"Did you cut it?"

"No, Cas—"

"This isn't Tony's house." She informs him while he's still trying to work his wording out.

"No."

"Are you a Vampire?"

He scowls at that one, shaking his head with his answer. "No I'm a mage."

"Like my Dad!" She grins at him eyes lighting up. "Do you work for Tony too?"

He's going to ignore the fact that she just compared him to a dark mage, and push on, she doesn't know any better—even the real her didn't seem to recognize the difference quite clearly sometimes and now is definitely _not_ the time to start ranting about her father... "No." He answers. And she frowns at him. He shifts in his seat, needs to remember to temper his tone. "I work for someone else," he adds in a gentler tone.

"Who?" She stares up at him, curls flopping to the side as her head bumps back against the chair's wooden backing.

_You._ He almost says it before some smarter part of his brain catches him in time. "It's…complicated."

"Where's my Mom and Dad?"

"Cassie, you know how mages do magic?" She nods to him. "This might be complicated for you to understand…" he frowns while she waits staring up at him from across the blemished wood. "You can do special things too…" he starts.

"I know." She shrugs, voice lowering when she continues, eyes wide. "But we're not supposed to talk about it."

He frowns harder before realizing the most obvious answer. "Tony is not supposed to know." Obviously her parents would not want the little better then mobster vampire, greedy weasel that he'd been to realize such a young talent lay within his grasp. She nods slowly, eyes very serious for such a young child. "—Cassie, something happened when you were doing magic…you don't remember it but we were attacked—"

"By men in dark hoods, I know."

He nearly drops his mug. "You remember the attack?"

"No, I dreamt it. You were there. But it didn't make sense because I was big." She wrinkles her nose at him again. John stares at her completely lost for a word to say. "Will I go back?"

"Back where?" It feels a bit like his head is spinning. _Bloody Hell_ she even confuses him as a child!

"To being big?" Her pale blue eyes regard him suddenly huge in her freckled face.

"I'm not sure, I hope so," Because he had no idea what he was supposed to do if she doesn't.

She nods and then informs him, "I'm hungry," She stares at him waiting.

_Right._ John realizes with a flood of relief he didn't bank on before their conversation started—_five year old logic_.

Perhaps the more difficult conversations will come in time. How long a time, remains to be seen. He pushes back from the table, chair legs scraping lightly in protest over the wooden floor beneath his boots.

"Let's get you something to eat."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **_Not mine_

**Notes:**_For Silver Cranes!_

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**Chapter Four**

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As it turned out, something John failed to notice beforehand—there wasn't much to eat in the whole damn house. Either Jonas had been in desperate need of a market run before he'd left in a hurry; or he simply didn't keep much on hand to begin with…When he pauses to consider it John's not sure he's ever seen the man in question construct much more than a cuppa and on one occasion a few slices of badly burnt toast. He frowns it's a wonder the eccentric man didn't burn the whole place to the ground.

Young Cassie at least seems intrigued with the idea of tea biscuits, though a bit stale edible at least which he finally produces from the very back of one of the cabinets. He purses his lips watching her nibble on them, chewing off all the rounded edges methodically making them smaller and smaller one by one in some kind of childlike game. He's realizing they need to make a market run, which presents a whole new series of complications before him. When she stands up in her chair reaching halfway across the table for another one fingertips grasping at the edge of the cardboard box to pull it closer to her John has to turn his face away pressing his palm over his lips to muffle a curse.

Food is not the only thing they need to get. He scowls dragging a tired hand over his face wondering exactly where one is supposed to get clothing for a half-naked child—_without _getting arrested. It's not like he can leave her home alone without him—even if he could put her under a sleeping spell of some kind she'd be completely unprotected, more so then she usually is, and knowing the situations the woman normally finds herself in he certain the moment he steps out the door all hell would break loose.

After a bit of contemplation he ends up taking her up stairs and sifting through several of the old dresser drawers of clothing Jonas left behind, eventually repurposing an old pair of hideous pinstripe patterned shorts, that he can only imagine Jonas wearing in the pitch dark where nobody could see the man, being they were truly hideous. But at least they came with a draw string waist he could cinch in to the point of probably keeping them up. Thanking the heavens that five year old Cassie seems to lack any fashion sense John hustles her out the door and into the shed which holds the waiting car.

The closest town is less than a thirty minute drive from Cobb End, when following all normal traffic rules at least. By the time they arrive John's nerves are more than a little frayed, not that Cassie seems to mind the narrow lanes, redundant stop signs and windy roundabouts laden with under-caffeinated, recklessly unaware drivers and more than one or two sheep herds being driven across gravel lanes and an honest to god cow. It's a miracle they weren't in an accident. After instructing Cassie to refer to him as her 'uncle' should she need to draw his attention John escorts her inside the closest clothing store that would seem, from the window at least, to offer clothing for the right age range since he can only guess at the right size.

Set to the task with the single minded determination worthy of potion creation they were quickly able to locate the appropriate size, by trial and error and after a second of foresight John also quickly added several larger sized jeans and shirts to their quickly growing pile and a few spare shirts and pants for his own use, seeing as he had no idea how long they might be stuck at Cobb End—after witnessing what was left in Jonas's dresser John had no interest in being caught dead in those clothes.

Gathering clothing and shoes—also in expanding sizes still took the better part of an hour, and John could hear Cassie's stomach growling loudly by the time they reached the checkout counter. The blue haired shop owner gave him a bit of a look noting the sizes as she run them out, questioning whether he was certain he had the right sizes for his daughter!

"He's my Uncle," Cassie announced before he could think of a less then scathing retort drawing both the adults attention. Twisting back and forth swinging her arms around her in a semi-circle she grinned at the shop worker.

"Well, That explains the confusion, are you sure you've got the right sizes dear?" She's fixing him once again with a rather grandmotherly look over her glasses and John tries to ignore the rankle of irritation at being questioned about anything before Cassie distracts the woman again, ready with an answer it seems for anything.

"The big stuff is for my sister!" She adds winking at him with an exaggeration that scrunches up half her face when the woman nodded and returned her attention to scanning the tags again.

"What happened to the rest of your clothes dear?" Ms. Nosey asked leaning over the counter to take in Cassie's bare feet and oversized t-shirt. Cassie sighed dramatically without missing a beat turning innocent wide blue eyes on the woman.

"I fell in the duck pond." She announced.

_Where in the Seven Hells had she come up with that!? _ John wondered, but it seemed to work perhaps because it was so outlandish an answer, or because of the wide blue eyes Cassie was giving the woman which looked completely honest even to him with all his training. The woman tsked sympathetically and assured the devious little liar next to him that these things happened to the best of them. Pritkin quickly paid for their items hoping to stall further embellishments to their story he might have to later remember using bills from his emergency stash. He was ever grateful that he'd had the forethought to leave money in several currencies hidden away at Cobb End for just these kinds of emergencies. John glanced at the top of the glossy head of blond hair bent forward where Cassie had knelt down to poke at some sort of child's toy on a bottom shelf near the register's counter…well maybe not exactly these kinds of situations he amended.

Regardless, it would hardly due to use a credit card or bank card and give away his location—he had no doubt that the Vampires could track that in minutes. He could only imagine the disaster of having Mircea or some other pompous Senate asshats showing up at their door to find a child instead of a Pythia. That was a disaster best averted, at all costs John reasoned. Finally sales rung up, and paid for bags procured, he hustled his young charge into the establishments solitary restroom so she could change into appropriate clothing and moved them out of the store and down the street to the market after dropping the bags off in the car which he'd placed on a side street under a slight enchantment designed to keep locals magical and otherwise from focusing on its appearance, like the fact that the steering wheel was on the wrong side for these roads, or the severe lack of British plates.

He was just moving her through the doorway to the local food shop when beside him Cassie came to a complete stop and shuddered, her tiny hand clenching iron tight in his. Senses instantly on alert for danger John scanned the sidewalk, and then the street, the air above them, the local buildings—and found nothing to explain the tremble working its way through the tiny child beside him. Yet she remained frozen, eyes wide in obvious fright hand locked around his palm in a death grip. John knelt beside her turning his head to follow her gaze down the bare street and still saw nothing, the fact did nothing to alleviate his fears or calm his suddenly racing heartbeat.

"Cassie?" Nothing. John squeezed her hand giving it a little tug hoping to pull her from whatever stupor had grabbed her like a holding spell. "Cassie, what is it?"

Her hand tightened further in his, "Monsters," her whisper sent his heart into his throat, and had him reaching for one of the many weapons stashed under his cloth jacket designed to help him blend in with the locals instead of his usual heavy trench coat.

"What Monsters Cassie, Where?"

She turned to him then eyes so wide they seemed to fill half her face, washed with anxiety to a hue so pale they were almost grey leaving only the tiniest flecks of deep blue at the centers. The freckles on her face stark in contrast to the pallor of her cheeks as she stared at him breathing so hard and fast her shoulders rose and fell with each ragged breath giving the appearance that they might have run down the sidewalk instead of walked calmly. "You can't see them can you?" she whispered in a hushed tone. "My dad he can see them, he makes them go away. You're a mage you should be able to see them…" she frowned at him her tiny eyebrows drawn down on her pale face.

_Her father? The dead_, John reasoned. Cassie's father was a Dark Necromancer, or so he'd been lead to believe. Cassie herself kept a ghost servant normally; though she insisted he was a friend. John had even met the man once many months ago on a bizarre and ill-fated trip through Faerie. "Is it a ghost Cassie?" She nodded slowly eyes sliding from his face and the color leaching from her skin a bit more making her almost grey. John's hand tightened on hers his other hand grasping her bone thin upper arm as she flinched back to the point of almost stumbling clenching her eyes shut tight and turning her face away with a jerk at something obviously terrorizing the young girl he couldn't even see. This wasn't his Cassie, he reminded himself. She didn't understand that what she was seeing couldn't hurt her, was no longer real. And she lacked whatever defenses, few though they might be that her older counterpart had to stop such entities from following her.

Jonas had instructed him to teach her and with a new found resolve and an ache in his chest John became determined to do just that. He was going to have to teach her to ward herself immediately. He could not take the chance that she would grow and not remember how to do such a thing, but he could not do it here. Without further thought he pulled Cassie into his chest wrapping one arm around her waist and standing back up keeping her face hidden against his chest he felt her arms go around his neck, her legs wrap around his waist and he had to pause to shift her so that she didn't bump or dislodge any of the vials on his potion belt.

"Don't look," he informed her and then realizing with her shuddering that that would only solve half the problem when she flinched back from something he couldn't hear or see he added. "I'm going to put a silence charm on us, you'll only be able to hear me," At her nod against his chest he did just that and added his shields as well, pushing them out from his body in an ever expanding bubble, careful to keep them invisible to the naked eye—just large enough that they wouldn't bump into anyone carelessly. It wouldn't do to have another shopper slam into the invisible wall of his shields or to knock over a display of cans when he was only trying to keep something he couldn't see from terrorizing the small child in his arms, and keep from drawing more attention to themselves.

Pushing a cart with one hand and feeling utterly stupid for carrying a child completely capable of walking—though that fact earned him nothing but polite nods and a more than a few bright smiles from the woman he passed in the aisles John quickly gathered the basic items he needed and a few more things he thought a child might reasonably eat. By the time he'd gathered enough food for at least two weeks—he hoped, as this was not an experience he'd like to repeat Cassie had stopped shaking and her breath against his neck was even and steady. Still he didn't set her down even when he had to load the items one handed from the cart onto the check-out counter attracting the help of two obviously young mothers who gushed over how nice it was to see a father doing the domestics with his daughter. When they asked him why she wasn't in school he found himself replying with a curt "She's sick," which they both offered sympathetic responses to and offered advice the entire time his groceries were rung out from making chicken noodle soup from scratch to pine needle tea for lowering a fever.

He tried to be polite, but not overly so. Torn between his usual curt to the point of rude mannerisms to deflect such attentions from the opposite sex and not wanting to draw the wrong kind of attention either way. John breathed a small sigh of relief when he was finally checked out, his items were paper bagged and he'd fished out enough money from his wallet one handed still supporting Cassie who might have fallen asleep against his chest so he could pay. John excused himself with what he felt was an unnecessary explanation of getting Cassie home and they left at a brisk pace hoping to discourage anyone from following him and offering to help him load his purchases into the car or worse follow him home and show him how to make soup they didn't need.

When they reached the vehicle still parked on the side street between stores John was still scowling. He never would have guessed that carrying a small child through a store would be such a turn on for woman, though, being an Incubus they might not have even noticed the girl he reasoned. John sighed and woke Cassie who was indeed asleep and had drooled on his shirt he noted so he could put her in the passenger seat. She blinked at him arms still around his neck, her tiny nose inches from his face. "Are we going home again?"

John nodded and motioned that he would like to set her down. "Yes, we're leaving." He ordered tone firm. He wouldn't call it home. John scowled as she took her spot on the front seat and he finished shoving the bags into the back. It would never be home. _Not after Ruth, never again._

* * *

**TBC...**


End file.
